


until your forever

by JustThePlanets



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Music, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustThePlanets/pseuds/JustThePlanets
Summary: “What brings you to my temple, then?”“Your temple?” Pat asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. The man doesn’t look nearly old enough to be a high priest, or evil enough to be a landlord.The priest laughs, the noise echoes through the room and makes Pat’s heart flip. “I’m Brian David Gilbert,” he holds out his hand in lieu of an explanation.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	until your forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiAndReadyToCry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiAndReadyToCry/gifts).

> Hello! This is a wip I've had sitting around for a couple of months. I started it for the Polygolidays gift exchange, but realized it was too much to do in the short amount of time I had to write it. Since the idea came from BiAndReadyToCry's prompt, of course I'm gifting it to them. I hope you enjoy your second fic from me! 
> 
> Thank you as always to the lovely segmentcalled for beta-ing <3

The temple lies atop the highest hill in the village, overlooking both the small town it belongs to and the lake on the other side of the hill. It’s built from strong, gleaming white stones, and it’s covered in leafy vines that creep up the exterior, dipping into the spaces between bricks and making the cracks their homes. The building itself is surrounded by a fenced-in garden, brimming with all sorts of greenery and wildflowers. 

By all evidence, it should look overgrown and abandoned, but the flora only makes it even more inviting, and Pat knows that during services, the temple is almost overflowing with the inhabitants of the town. 

Pat hasn’t been to a service in years. Not since… Well. Not in years. He wouldn’t even dare to show his face at one in his old town. The memories associated with it and the knowing looks from his neighbors would be too much. 

A lot of the memories of his old life are too much. That’s why he’s here now, where the memories only plague his mind. At home, they would plague him in every conceivable way, scattered throughout his home and his town, waiting to jump out at him whenever he lets his guard down. 

In the safety of obscurity, the temple atop the hill calls to him in a way he thought was no longer possible. He hasn’t so much as hummed a tune since -

\-  _ disagreements became arguments became fights became tears _ … 

His guitar is stuffed under his bed, probably so out of tune that it would make better kindling than an instrument. 

And yet, the temple calls. 

Pat used to think of himself as devout, though it often took every ounce of his energy to actually participate in services.His heart would often rise to his throat at the very idea of people looking at him. 

His God always took pity on him, always helped him clear his mind as he put his fingers to strings, always lifted his voice and his heart and it was always worth the anxiety in the end, especially when he had his wife by his side. 

But she is no longer by his side, and his fingers no longer ache for the strings, and his voice is hoarse from tears and disuse. 

No God would want him now. 

But in this new town, it might be worth it to go check the temple out. It would be nice to get a feel for the culture that his new neighbors partake in. And he cannot deny the yearning in his heart for something  _ more.  _ Something that maybe his God could give him again.

So when he’s absolutely sure that there’s not a service going on, Pat makes his way up the hill, and he stops before the opening of the temple. 

The building has no doors, only an open archway that opens to a hall full of pews leading up to a white marble altar at the head of the room. It’s well-lit, Pat can tell that much, and it appears empty, but Pat hesitates, his boots just barely brushing against the stone steps. 

It’s been so long. Too long, maybe. Pat doesn’t belong here anymore. He probably never did. Maybe he should just go home. At least there he can wallow in his mediocrity in isolation instead of inviting curiosity from his new neighbors.

“Hey there!” comes a voice to his right. Pat jumps, almost tripping on the step as he whirls around to face this new person. 

It’s a man. He’s looking up at Pat with a huge smile that seems to take up his whole face. He’s just a bit shorter than Pat with wavy, tawny hair and wide hazel eyes. He’s dressed in white robes, cinched in at the waist and lined with golden embellishments, with a slim, glimmering bauble dangling from his ear. A priest, then. 

“Sorry, I was just-” Pat stumbles over his words, not quite sure how to voice his intentions to someone who is obviously in a position of power on these grounds. Heck, he doesn’t even  _ know  _ what his intentions really are. He just thinks he needs to be here right now. 

“Are you here for the service?” The priest asks. He brushes past Pat to make his way into the building. The bare skin of his arm is warm against Pat’s shoulder, even through Pat’s flannel shirt. “You’re a little early.” He waves Pat inside and Pat doesn’t feel as if he has a choice but to follow. 

“No,” Pat swallows past the sudden lump in his throat as he takes in the temple. It’s beautiful. Natural light spills in from colorful stained glass that lines the walls, casting technicolor hues on the pews and painting the altar itself with an almost golden shine. “I’m just…” Pat trails off as he brushes his fingers against the back of a pew. The wood is worn, but obviously well-loved, and warm to the touch. 

“Lost?” The priest asks with a cock of his head. He leaves Pat’s side to attend to a collection of instruments off to the side of the altar that Pat missed in his first glance around the space. 

Pat huffs out a laugh. “That’s as good a word for it as anything.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment and Pat shifts on his feet nervously as he waits for the priest to break the silence. He’s not a particularly shy person, but sometimes anxiety gets the better of him, and Pat feels so out of his depth here that he can do nothing but follow the priest’s lead. 

The priest picks up a beaten guitar. “Do you play?” the priest finally asks as he places his fingers on the strings and carefully tunes the instrument. The sounds it makes are surprisingly rich. 

“No.” The lump is back, bigger and more ruthless than before. “Not anymore.” 

“That’s a shame.” The priest merely smiles in response, like he knows something that Pat doesn’t. “What brings you to my temple, then?” 

“Your temple?” Pat asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. The man doesn’t look nearly old enough to be a high priest, or evil enough to be a landlord. 

The priest laughs, the noise echoes through the room and makes Pat’s heart flip. “I’m Brian David Gilbert,” he holds out his hand in lieu of an explanation. 

Pat places his hand in Brian’s, his fingers are warm and calloused. “Pat Gill,” he replies and Brian’s smile widens, if that’s even possible. Their hands linger, and Pat feels his face start to heat before Brian finally pulls away.

“You’re the new resident.” It’s not a question, and Pat has to close his eyes against the rush of anxiety that floods through his veins. He doesn’t like the idea of people talking about him enough that he’s  _ known _ . It’s a weird, uncomfortable feeling. Nevertheless, Pat nods, because, well, he is. 

“I suppose I am.” Pat runs his fingers through his hair. 

“You suppose?” The corners of Brian’s eyes crinkle with restrained laughter at Pat’s expense.

“Alright, yes. I’m new here.” The admission feels weird, but not altogether unpleasant. 

“I thought so,” Brian nods, like he’s just discovered some great secret, and he picks up a stack of sheet music. 

“Do you want some help?” Pat asks as Brian starts distributing the sheets among the pews. It’s uncomfortable to stand there and just watch someone work.

“I would love some, Pat Gill.” 

Oh. 

Pat doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name said like that. He doesn’t think anyone has ever sounded so happy to speak his name. He doesn’t think anyone has ever breathed so much meaning into those two short syllables. Pat’s breath catches as his heart stumbles over his ribcage. 

Brian, seemingly unaware of Pat’s whole situation, halves the stack of music and hands a pile to Pat. Their fingers brush, even though the paper is so wide there’s no reason that they had to. 

“So what brings you to my temple then, Pat Gill?” Brian methodically makes his way through the rows, tucking the music into the wooden slots in the backs of the benches. 

“Curiosity, I guess.” Pat is slower in distributing his pile, awkward in his navigation through the pews. Pat waves his hand, gesturing at the temple with a rustle of papers. “I wanted to know what all the hype was about.”

“Aww, shucks,” Brian says and Pat thinks he could get lost in Brian’s smile if he looks at it for too long. “There’s hype about me?”

It’s weird, Pat thinks, how Brian seems to be so connected to the temple. He speaks as though they are intricately entwined. One and the same. It’s weird, but intriguing. Pat can’t help but play along. 

“Oh yeah, everyone talks about how great the building is.” It’s true. Everytime Pat goes shopping he overhears people talking about how the sun is hitting the temple  _ just right _ and how they can’t wait for the next service. “And how wonderful and pedantic the priest can be.” Pat adds, sly. 

“Pedantic!” Brian squawks and there’s a flurry of noise as sheet music flutters to the floor where Brian dropped it. 

Pat bites back a grin. “That’s just what they say.”

Brian grumbles under his breath as he bends to pick up the sheets of paper. Pat rushes across the aisle to help him, feeling a twinge of regret for potentially insulting the first person to be nice to him in this strange new town. 

“I was joking,” Pat admits, shame creeping up the back of his neck. “But for what it’s worth,” Pat continues, keeping his eyes on the floor as he collects paper, “you don’t seem pedantic to me.”

Brian laughs and the whole room feels brighter for it. “You’re a charmer, Pat Gill.” Pat looks up at last and is taken aback by the fondness he finds in Brian’s eyes. “I am pretty pedantic though, when you get to know me. It was a good guess.” And Brian winks at him. 

Pat hands over the sheet music he collected and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I look forward to getting to know you.” 

Pat wants to cringe at how much that sounds like flirting. Brian’s a priest, and he’s so attractive, there’s no way he’d be interested in Pat. But Brian beams in response.

“Will you be coming to the service then?” Brian’s smiling, but there’s something in his eyes, something almost sad, like he already knows that the answer is no, and Pat hates that he has to confirm that. 

“Maybe next time,” Pat says, a softer no than he intended. He doubts he’ll actually follow through with it though. The temple is gorgeous, and Brian seems nice, but the idea of sitting through a service for a god that Pat doesn’t deserve to worship makes his skin crawl. 

“Next time then,” Brian says.

Pat feels off-kilter, unsettled, as he opens the door to his cottage. He feels like something incredibly important happened to him today, like he’s standing on the edge of something huge and he’s just waiting, paralyzed, for someone, or something, to push him over the edge. 

Pat tries to push the feeling from his mind as he pads around his kitchen and makes dinner. He tries not to dwell on it as he settles in front of the television with his lonely dinner for one. He tries to focus on anything else as he scoops some food into Charles’s food dish. But it doesn’t help. The uneasiness is lodged deep in his stomach and it’s festering. 

He can’t put his finger on the source. He had a pretty good day out. Brian is the first person he’s met in the village who he felt comfortable with. By all means, Pat should be feeling more at ease than ever. 

Instead, he’s keyed up and the hair on the back of his neck is standing up, like someone is watching him, but the only one around is his cat. 

Restless, and without really thinking about it, Pat pulls his guitar out from underneath his bed. He sits on the edge of his mattress, his guitar in his lap, and places his fingers on the strings. 

And then he just. Sits there. Unmoving. 

He can’t do it. Shame clogs his throat and he blinks back the burning in his eyes. Part of him wants to throw the guitar at the wall, but instead he slowly stands and gingerly slides the instrument back under his bed. 

It’s seventy degrees outside, but Pat still feels cold when he goes to sleep that night. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
